


when you're all that i think about (all that i dream about)

by andfinallywearehome



Category: Wizards vs Aliens
Genre: F/M, a collection of sorts, basically any fics that are too short for their own thing will go here, hopefully endless but we'll see
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-05-30 20:12:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19410544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andfinallywearehome/pseuds/andfinallywearehome
Summary: it's very possible that you love him - and he loves you too.(or, a series of drabbles and ficlets in one spot so i can finally stop cluttering up the place.)





	when you're all that i think about (all that i dream about)

**Author's Note:**

> basically what it says on the tin - a dumping ground for shorter pieces and drabbles. maybe a few random au pieces thrown in? it's a whole mixed bag. we're (hopefully) gonna have a good time here, fam. now i won't bog down the archive with all my rubbish, ya know?
> 
> main title is from 'goodnight moon' by go radio; i own nothing.

there’s a coldness in the air tonight and the fire escape lets out an unhealthy groan under your weight - not much of a safety measure if it can’t even hold together, you think. you’re not really sure why you’re here, why your aimless wandering through the streets so late at night has brought you this window in particular (after you _promised_ yourself that you wouldn’t come here again, no less) but here you are - here you are gently knocking on the glass of the window on the fourth floor and hoping that there’s some kind of response, _something_.

at first there’s silence, save only for the thumping in your chest that marks the passing of seconds, and then there’s a click and the window rolls up, to reveal unkempt blonde hair and a pair of soft, bleary eyes staring in your direction.

_what are you doing here?_ there’s a sudden surge of alertness to her eyes now, concern leaking into them. _is there something wrong? what’s happened?_

_nothing_ , you say - and perhaps there’s a bit of guilt in your chest now, for waking her at such a stupid hour over such a stupid reason. _i just - couldn’t sleep_.

her eyes narrow - analysing, examining, the way she’s been taught to when everything in her life is a game - before they soften again. maybe it’s the late hour, maybe she’s just as tired as you, maybe she just empathises - whatever the reason, she stands back and lets you climb through the window, landing with a ungraceful thud on her carpet. there are arms around you that help you up off the floor and towards the bed in the corner, and you tumble onto the mattress, bundled up in the smell of fresh laundry and unfamiliar shampoo that has lingered on her hair. something about it _feels_ familiar, though - maybe it’s just her. her presence is _everywhere_ here, like a balm to sooth an ache.

she stands and watches you get comfortable in silence, hugging a stray pillow to her chest and nodding towards the door, the cold living room and the sofa that waits out there, but you shake your head, because having her there makes you feel better (safer, in some strange twist of irony).

_stay_ , you say and you kind of don’t care about how much it sounds like begging, and for a moment those eyes narrow at you again and you’re sure she’ll say no.

when she reaches out and takes your hand, squeezing your fingers with hers, you know, if this was a game, you’ve won this round.


End file.
